


Under Her Dark Veil

by dexstarr



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, F/M, In Paris, Pre-Episode: S03E01 Antipasto, Season 2, Tie Kink, bedannibalprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-25 13:04:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dexstarr/pseuds/dexstarr
Summary: The noise of the shower reminds Bedelia of the early days, when they stole moments after sessions and learned everything they could about each other, insatiable in the ways new lovers are.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Hannibal_ is not mine and no profit is made from this work.

### I.

The noise of the shower reminds Bedelia of the early days, when they stole moments after sessions and learned everything they could about each other, insatiable in the ways new lovers are. He had her in that very shower once, back pressed against the cold glass while he devoured the heat between her legs.

She always did like him on his knees. 

When he comes out of the bathroom, face buried in her towel, Bedelia unnecessarily cocks the hammer of her gun. He doesn’t seem surprised to see her, but the dramatic touch reminds him who’s in charge in the sanctuary of her bedroom.

Hannibal dresses with her permission, making a show of it as he always does. The sight is familiar, even comforting, but her loaded aim doesn’t waver. Cool metal in one hand, filled glass in the other — they are comforts, too. She will take any advantage to ground herself, after he changed the balance of their encounters. 

Their talk is meaningless, a re-establishment of their roles, until —

“You’re optimistic I won’t kill you.” Hannibal finally voices the threat he’s implied more than once. The reason she ran, worried that she had tarried too long with her morality, questioned his persuasions too much. When his eyes meet hers, that familiar, challenging look she remembers lighting the darkness of his face, Bedelia puts down the gun and finishes her drink. 

Hannibal has nearly finished dressing. When he picks up his tie, Bedelia stands and meets him. Her nose recalls the scent of blood on him. On her. It haunts her dreams sometimes, and even though he’s showered, she still smells danger. “Will you come with me?” he asks.

The tang of spice and metal, of _Hannibal_ , reminds her of what’s missing in her life. The thrill of danger, of intrigue, of challenge, of _living._ Bedelia answers without the rounds of inner deliberation that accompany serious decisions. “Yes.” 

Pushing Hannibal’s hands away, she buttons the collar of his shirt, concealing the last visible injury. Bedelia knots his tie, gently nestling the knot at the base of his collar. Then, looking up at him, other hand flat on his chest, she wraps the length of celadon silk around her fist. “But when you are with me, you will think only of me,” she says firmly, pulling on the tie to keep his attention. Memories of choking him float to the forefront of her brain, of having one hand on his tie like this and the other on him, timing the most pressure on his throat when he came in her hand. 

“Of course, Dr. Du Maurier.” 

“Bedelia.” Hannibal’s answering smirk, the barest uplift of the left corner of his mouth, makes her want to push him down to the bed, and, God help her, undress him. He’s purposefully reminding her of their past, of the games they played in controlling and testing each other. She felt like a goddess then, dallying with a predator and coming out on top. Usually. Until he pushed her too far, taking the threat of danger out of its acceptable context and into her daily life. In his quest for her to become more like him, Hannibal took every opportunity to remind her of the very real hold he had over her, and her life. 

With her new immunity, he’s lost that hold, but in going with him, she knows she’s giving him the opportunity for more leverage. And, God help her with that too, because she’s already looking forward to see what he’ll try next. 

For the first time in more than a year, she feels alive. The dull cocoon of retirement and safety have lifted, peeled away by her agreement to be at his side. Time slows down as Bedelia tugs Hannibal’s head down so she can kiss him, as if he’s a fairytale prince who’s rescued her. 

But she’s no innocent princess, no more than he’s a prince. 

He’s the villain and that’s exactly who she wants. 

“What do I need to take with me?” she asks, letting go of him at last, smoothing his tie and shirt. Her hands stay on his chest, nails tapping against his heart. 

Hannibal brushes his lips over her cheek. “Nothing. I will provide everything you need.” 

Hand-in-hand, they leave Baltimore behind, to make their own twisted fairytale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [electric-couple's](https://electric-couple.tumblr.com/) "Season 2" prompt. 
> 
> The title is from the poem "Under Her Dark Veil" by Anna Akhmatova.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://galacticcoyote.tumblr.com/), prompts are welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Hannibal_ is not mine and no profit is made from this work.

### II.

Hannibal listens patiently to the long process of Bedelia’s bath, hearing the truth behind every sigh and movement the splashing water doesn’t mute. She stays in the beaten copper tub longer than is polite or smart; the water chills long before she climbs out. 

Bedelia has repeated this process every night since they landed in Paris. She hides herself away in the bathroom, the one place he won’t intrude, for a measure of solitude. In truth, he cannot entirely blame her — it is different to see each other this way. To spend hours upon hours together with no reprieve, instead of the rushed dalliances they once shared. Not that they needed to rush, even then, but the forced quickness added to the forbidden feel, which was simultaneously part of the lure and deterrent for her. He always had to push at the limits of her discipline and what she would allow, offering the enticement of control over him to urge her to break doctor-patient boundaries.

“Come here, Bedelia,” Hannibal says when she finally emerges from the bathroom. He pats a space next to him on the bed and waits expectantly. 

She sits beside him, as she has done every night since their flight from Baltimore. There’s only one bed as befits a honeymoon suite, but he usually spends his nights on the balcony, memorizing the lights and scents of Paris at night. As of yet, they have not actually slept together. 

They didn’t in the past, either — another side effect of the stolen moments in her office or his. (And twice in her kitchen, and once in her shower.)

If Bedelia wants to stay here with him, concealed in the shadow of his dangerous side, he will have her as his wife in full. 

It _will_ be her choice. Hannibal has no interest in that sort of crime, and indeed, he would kill anyone who violated that boundary. 

Bedelia simply needs a little … persuasion. 

She breaks the silence first. “What do you want, Hannibal?” 

“Tell me, do you think only of me, now that you are here with me?” Hannibal asks, referencing the promise he made to her. He cannot blame her for that condition, either — her possessiveness is exactly what he needs, after the denial of his gift. Unlike someone else, Bedelia appreciates the darkness within him, the mysteries she will never completely solve. He enjoys her attempts at the latter; it reminds him of sitting in her home, pursuing therapy with additional goals in mind. 

Bedelia places her hand on his chest, much like she did in her bedroom before they left. “Yes.” 

“Then why do you hesitate?” 

She draws her shoulders back, brow narrowing in an expression he knows well. “I am your psychiatrist, Hannibal. This is … unconventional.” 

Hannibal draws her hand to his mouth and kisses her thumb. “Not in the slightest.” His own thumb caresses the wedding ring Bedelia now wears. It _is_ a legal marriage. He leaves nothing to chance, but beyond that, it pleases him, to claim her in such a conventional way when their relationship is anything but. “You weren’t thinking conventional thoughts when you recalled some of our choicer times together before making your decision to accompany me.” 

Bedelia’s eyes harden like polished sapphires. She never did like when he read her inner thoughts. Her chin lifts, and this time she holds the silence, stubborn and unyielding. 

Hannibal moves to sit behind her, so close that her back is flush against his chest. Bedelia’s so small against him, she fits perfectly in his arms. It’s easy to forget her slight stature when she fills every room with the strength of her presence. “I have taken off my person suit, as you so aptly identified it.” He nuzzles the back of her neck. Her hair is still pinned up from the bath, and he encounters a few remaining drops of water.

Breathing in deeply, he commits the intimacy of this moment to his memory palace. He hasn’t been able to savor her properly for so long, but now he will have her, and she him. He knows she’s fearful of her own capacity for cruelty and manipulation. If only she would let go — the magnificent things they could do together. 

He inhales again in the space behind her ear. “Now that you are here with me, it is time for you to remove yours,” Hannibal purrs, knowing exactly how his voice vibrates in this sensitive spot, and how much she likes it. Almost as much as she likes the taste and thrill of danger. 

Twisting in his arms, Bedelia exposes the side of her throat to him in tacit agreement. “I wonder, will you like what is behind my veil.”

She doesn’t mean it as a question, but he responds. “Yes.” Tracing the line of her pulse, Hannibal murmurs, “I have waited a long time to see the truth of you. And I like you.” He pulls her tight against him; he wants her to feel the effect this conversation is having upon him. “I trust you to see me, as I see you.” 

Bedelia turns again, facing him. Tugging his head back, she bites along the same path his mouth traveled on her: up his throat, to his ear, and then to his mouth. She lingers over the kiss, keeping the press of her lips light, until he’s the one leaning into her with a moan. 

They share the bed that night, the first of many nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [electric-couple's](https://electric-couple.tumblr.com/) "Sharing a bed" prompt.
> 
> The title is from the poem "Under Her Dark Veil" by Anna Akhmatova.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://galacticcoyote.tumblr.com/), prompts are welcome!


End file.
